


The Hold

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Series: Destiel Feels [23]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Episode: s15e18 Despair, Episode: s15e18 Despair - Castiel's Confession Scene, Fear of Death, Heartbreak, I Love You, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Gore, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pain, Post-Episode: s12e12 Stuck In The Middle (With You), Shoulder touching, Spoilers for Episode: s15e18 Despair, read and review
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:09:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29123202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: There is more than one way to say "I love you" and sometimes "I love you" is the worst thing to say.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Destiel Feels [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/218576
Comments: 18
Kudos: 89





	The Hold

He was torn open, losing himself bit by bit like he was a tree in autumn. Colorful, while his color was fading fast, and there was nothing Dean could do. He could only stand there, watching as a hole tore through him too, screaming at him, saying he was running out of time.

 _It's now or never_ … but for what?

And then Cas said it … and it was like he was closing his own coffin. “I love you … I love all of you.”

Even on his death bed, he’s still putting Dean first.

_It’s now or never._

Castiel coughs and his color shifts to a deathly blue.

_It’s now or never!_

Dean breathes in deep, body acting on reflex—the only problem is, his reflex has always been to shut down.

_Now!_

_Do it now!_

“… you’re _family_ …” Dean mutters back.

And the tears the angel has been crying seem to build, his heart breaking on the sharp edges of Dean’s cowardice; but there are eyes all around them making it impossible for him to think, to breathe, so he firms up, turning into frigid stone, knowing that he will regret this every day of his life—but he was raised not to cry.

He was raised to be quiet. He was raised to think that the only way a man can care for someone, is to say he’s obligated to do so. “We don’t leave family behind.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything else.

So, Dean does what he knows how to do—he fights, he wins, and he prepares himself to lose… lose another friend, lose _more._

But help always comes just in the nick of time, and from the most unlikely place—and when that staff is broken, and when Cas is whole again, Dean is whole again too, breathing deep and thinking hard.

The whole way home, _he thinks_.

As he walks down the stairs into the bunker, _he thinks._

And as his mother and Sam disappear down the hall, he finally takes a chance to think out loud.

“I thought … I thought you were a goner” he says to Castiel’s back.

The angel turns, nodding slowly. “So did I. I still can’t quite believe it was _Crowley_ who saved me.”

Dean huffs a tired laugh. “Yeah. Stranger things have happened though.”

Castiel nods a second time as his gaze shifts down. “Yes … well … I should go clean myself up.” He pulls at his tattered, blackened clothes and then moves towards the hallway.

“Don’t do that again” Dean spits, pent up words finally bursting from his lips like venom.

Castiel looks at him from over his shoulder, concern and confusion ringing in his eyes. “I wasn’t planning on getting stabbed with a divine staff, Dean; but I will try to avoid them in the future.”

But Dean can’t look at him now. He can’t smile or play this off, so he stares at his boots where they hold him in place, and he lets the only emotion he’s comfortable with, take him over. “It’s not a fucking joke, Cas! Don’t you ever— _ever_ say that to me again!”

“ _Say_ … what are you talking about?” The angel walks back to face him, standing too close and looking too worried.

Dean regards him for a moment more, but then looks once again towards his boots, grounding himself and grounding down his nerves. “You don’t say those words to me, alright? If I hear them again—then I’ll know … I’ll know you’re dyi— _you’re_ … I can’t handle that, okay? So just, don’t ever say them to me again!”

Castiel is quiet as he steps closer, silence growing like the stillness in Dean’s heart. A warm hand rises, with a touch so familiar—from every time it’s healed and every time it’s held onto him. From Hell to Heaven, and to the ends of time, that hand has been Dean’s salvation, and once more, _salvation_ rests on his shoulder. “Alright. I won’t say them again.”

_Salvation falls away._

And Dean watches as the angel turns from him—coat heavy on that sagging body. “ _Cas_ …” he breathes, reaching out. “Cas, _wait_ ,” and now it’s _his_ turn. His palm shakes against the tan fabric, and his fingers twitch as he curves them over the angel’s shoulder. He doesn’t know what he wants to say, but he hopes that Castiel will understand him, somehow. He prays that he’ll just _know_.

Those blue eyes search Dean’s face a moment, and then they drop to the side, looking up Dean’s arm, to his wrist and then his hand—to shaking fingers, shoring up the longer they’re there.

Dean steps in closer, rubbing his thumb along the line of Cas’s collar bone.

And then Castiel covers Dean’s hand with his own.

And he knows—and _Dean_ _knows_ , that this is how they’ll say it from now on. They won’t need words, they never needed them anyhow. They just need _this_. Their hands, still warm, still full of life, still ready to fight so that they can lay them upon one another at the end of the day and show each other that— _yes,_ _they’re still there._

And it worked.

For years, _it worked._

Until Castiel stood across from him once more, Billie pounding on the dungeon door, time running out as tears ran from those haloed eyes—looking over Dean’s face like he always did, only this time, _he_ was the one begging for understanding.

“I love you.”

Dean feels that hole tear through him once again—a wound that only a broken promise can make. “Don’t do this, Cas” he pleads, because he knows what those words truly mean … they mean _goodbye._

But then the angel reaches out—with that hand that’s healed and held, and pulled him from Heaven to Hell and back again. He holds it in front of him and presses it to Dean’s shoulder with all the weight of _the last time_ , telling him what he’s been telling him since the moment they met…

That an _I love you_ is a _goodbye,_ and a _goodbye_ is an _I love you_ , and the only salvation either of them will ever know, will be in the firm hold that they have on each other.

"Goodbye, Dean."

**Author's Note:**

> I welcome criticism and comments on all aspects of my writing. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
